


Lovelace Was Wrong

by KoreArabin



Category: Black Mirror
Genre: Bondage, Captivity, Gags, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Nudity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: Daly steps up his mistreatment of Walton.Inspired by bezumiye's wonderful "Playground".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Playground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263843) by [bezumiye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bezumiye/pseuds/bezumiye). 



Walton comes to abruptly, wincing as the harsh brightness of the ship’s lights cuts across his half-opened eyes. He groans, wanting to shake his head free of muzziness, but frightened that that will only increase the pounding in his skull. He tries to swallow, but realises that his mouth is stuffed open.

“Awake, Lieutenant? Good.”

Slowly, it all begins to come back to him, accelerating until the recollection becomes a flood of unpleasant, unwanted memory.

Being summoned to the bridge, standing stiffly to attention, then being pointedly ignored whilst The Captain fiddles with his ever-present omnicorder, becoming more and more pissed at Daly’s inflicting of yet another small humiliation on him. After what seems like ages of silent seething, Daly at last looks up.

“Walton. I need you to help me run some med experiments. Strip, will you.”

“Sir?”

“Are you deaf as well as incompetent, Lieutenant? I told you to strip.”

Walton hesitates, still not quite believing what Daly is asking of him. Sure, Daly habitually abuses him, both verbally and physically, subjecting him to all manner of petty humiliations, but so far he hasn’t gone further than a slap to the face or a kick in the ass.

Daly purses his lips. “Strip now, James, you pathetic piece of shit, or God help me, I am going to take your face and suffocate you until you fucking piss yourself.”

Walton slowly peels off the hideous blue Space Fleet tunic, then unzips his boots and steps out of them. Lastly, he unbuttons his trousers and lets them, and his underwear, fall to the floor. He stands naked in from of The Captain, shivering (when did the bridge get so damned cold?), covering his genitals with his hands.

Daly smirks, holding up a pair of heavy duty metal cuffs. “Put these on yourself. Hands behind your back.”

Walton flushes with anger and humiliation, but obeys, cinching his wrists together in the small of his back.

“Tighten them up. I want them to _hurt_.”

Walton hisses as the cold, unforgiving metal cuts into the delicate flesh of his wrists.

“Good. C’mon then, _Jimmy_ , let’s get you ready for the experiments.”

Without warning, Daly grasps a fistful of Walton’s hair and all but drags him, stumbling and fighting, to the med bay.

~ ~ ~

And that is how Walton comes to be lying face down on one of the cold steel gurneys, his wrists and ankles secured to its corners, and a metal bolster beneath his hips, holding his ass up in the air, his cock and balls hanging defenceless between his splayed thighs.

His mouth is stuffed with a huge rubber ball gag, the very same delicate shade of blue as the detested Space Fleet tunic. Daly runs a finger along the strap keeping the gag firmly buckled in his mouth.

“If I simply wanted to keep you quiet I could just remove your face again, of course. You know how that feels, don’t you? Of course you do – I’ve had you choking and moaning and _grovelling_ at my feet so many times, haven’t I? But – no. I prefer it this way, your mouth stuffed nice and full, all stretched out around that big fat blue ball, and I want to _hear_ you. I want to hear the noises you make once we start our experiments.”

Walton twists his neck, as far as he can, to look up at Daly. Despite what he knows of Daly's petty vindictiveness, and his sadism, his surprise at The Captain's lapse in character must show on his face.

“Oh, you thought this was all being done in the lofty pursuit of scientific knowledge, in accordance with the noble directives of Space Fleet?”

Daly leans down over his captive, smoothing the stray soft brown bangs from his face, before grasping a fistful of hair and wrenching his head back cruelly.

“No, James. This is payback. Payback for all those times you’ve brushed over my contribution to _Infinity_ and refused to give me the recognition I deserve. For all the times you’ve sashayed round the office, looking so cool, so rich, so _successful_ , flirting and laughing and enjoying yourself, all at my expense. This is where we get even, you and I. This is where I get to make you _scream_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Walton does not respond. He watches Daly out of the corner of his eye, as far as he can, given his limited range of movement. Daly rummages about on a trolley to Walton's left, just outside of his line of sight. However, once Daly finds what he's looking for, he holds it up with a satisfied huff of success, brandishing it in front of Walton's face so that he is in no danger of misunderstanding what Daly has planned for him. 

It is a long, thick plug, flaring out to a fairly eye-watering thickness at its midpoint, before tapering down to a narrow neck and a flat, solid base. Daly smirks, maintaining eye contact with Walton as he slathers the plug with lube, setting it up on its base beside Walton's face, before snapping on thick rubber gloves and smearing another gout of lube over his fingers. 

Walton hisses as Daly begins to probe at his entrance, massaging the tight ring of muscle before squirting yet more lube over it. Walton shivers as the cold, viscous goop drips down over his perineum and testicles, before coalescing on the metal table top in a sticky pool beneath his cock. 

Daly doesn't bother with even the most perfunctory preparation once Walton's lubed up. Grasping the plug, he lines it up with Walton's entrance and begins to force it into him. Walton hisses around the gag, mortified when he is unable to prevent strings of saliva drooling down over his chin and neck and on to the table top. He tries to clench down and fight the intrusion as best he can, but Daly simply grabs his testicles and _twists_. Walton bellows into the gag as bright starbursts of pain explode behind his eyelids. For a horrifying instant, he thinks he's going to vomit or pass out, or both, but the moment thankfully passes, although it leaves Walton burning in a cold sweat, gasping as he presses his forehead against the blessed coolness of the steel table top. 

Daly doesn't stop; he just continues pressing the plug into him, forcing it to push past the tight ring of muscle as Walton moans and struggles against his restraints. Walton's moans of pain morph into a harsh, continuous, ululating keen as the plug forces further in, getting wider and wider before finally, _mercifully_ , shrinking back down to the narrower neck. Walton's sphincter clenches painfully around the base of the plug, just as he feels its tip probing deep inside him and brushing against his prostrate. 

He doesn't think that he has ever felt more miserable, shivering with pain and fever against the cold steel gurney, his ass throbbing and burning from being stretched open so forcibly. Then, in what must be the most horrible part of it all, a sensation of unwanted, forced arousal begins to curl in his stomach and well up deep at the base of his cock. 

And then the plug begins to vibrate.


	3. Chapter 3

Walton jerks as if electrocuted, stifling a long, gasping sob at the sensation of the plug vibrating against his prostate. His cock is rock hard, drizzling sticky ropes of precome on to the steel table top, and he cannot prevent himself trying to thrust down into the slick mess, desperate to get enough friction to allow him to climax. But the bolster beneath his hips prevents him from rubbing his cock against the table top, and he is dimly aware that he must present a pretty pathetic sight, buttocks flexing as he humps thin air, panting and drooling around his gag, chasing an orgasm that lingers tantalisingly just outside his reach. 

He begins to sob, fighting against the restraints, howling against the gag, but is utterly silenced, unable to articulate what the plug in his ass is doing to him - it is vibrating mercilessly against his prostate, fully hilted and, suddenly, even without any friction on his cock, he’s coming – white streaks painting the cold grey steel of the gurney. 

Dimly, he realises that Daly is standing in front of him. Daly grabs his hair and pulls his head up by the roots. 

"Enjoying yourself, James?"

Walton is too exhausted and over-sensitised to do much more than twitch as Daly slaps and pinches his face: tiny, _petty_ little displays of cruelty and power over his captive. But, when the vibrations in his ass begin once more, far more vigorously than before, his traitorous cock begins to fill again, and he is then reduced to a recurrence of desperate moaning and writhing, trying to push the plug out of his ass when at the same time he cannot stop himself humping it, thrusting downwards in an attempt to rub the head of his prick against the steel gurney. 

And then he realises that Daly is squeezing his nipples, digging his nails into them and twisting the sensitive nubs viciously, smirking down at his captive as he forces more smothered howls of pain from behind the gag.

"Hush, James. Shhhh. I have you."

Walton's stomach heaves as Daly begins to lick at his lips, stretched obscenely wide around the huge gag. 

"Do you want me to take the gag out, James?"

Walton nods vigorously; his jaw has gone beyond painful, stretched open wide in a deep, constant _ache_ , his throat sore from swallowing and his lips dry and cracked. Daly goes to unbuckle the gag, then pauses.

"So, if I remove this, I want you to do something for me."

Walton stares at him, forehead creased in pain and concentration.

"I want you to kiss me. Not a chaste meeting of lips. No. I want the full, wet, open mouthed kisses I've seen you give in the heat of passion. The ones where you swallow tongues. I want you to swallow _my_ tongue; suck it, and tongue-fuck my mouth like your life depended on it."

Daly really doesn't need to add that they are both fully aware that the life depending on it isn't Walton's.

Resigned, closing his eyes, Walton nods.


	4. Chapter 4

Immediately the gag is unbuckled and then Walton's mouth is full of Daly's tongue and teeth, and so much of his fucking gross _saliva_ , as he clumsily tries to French kiss his lieutenant. 

If it was _anyone_ but Daly, Walton could cope. He could pretend it was some hot but inexperienced intern exploring his or her sexuality, a little over-enthusiastic, but one can cope with that. But having _Robert fucking Daly_ , his captor, his perverted torturer, his son’s _murderer_ , for fuck’s sake, _raping_ his fucking mouth, is suddenly too much. 

Without warning, Walton retches, heaving, bile burning his throat and, reflexively, he bites down on Daly’s tongue. Daly shouts in pain and surprise, and steps away, wiping at his mouth. 

Walton’s stomach knots in fear as Daly stares down at him, his face a mask of white, granite rage. 

“Daly, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – I couldn’t help it, it just happened – Robert, please... _Bob_ …” 

Daly simply lashes him hard in the face, an open-handed slap which leaves Walton reeling against the gurney top, tasting blood as the inside of his cheek is lacerated against his teeth. Daly grabs a handful of his hair, and wrenches his head up, leaning in so they are close enough for Walton to be sprayed with Daly's saliva as he hisses viciously into his face. 

"You have tried my patience once too much, Lieutenant. I am going to go _biblical_ on your ass. You are entering a _world_ of _pain_." 

Despite himself, Walton cannot suppress a short, hysterical burst of laughter. Typical Robert fucking Daly; the man cannot even threaten him, with something no doubt _totally fucking horrendous_ , without resorting to popular movie references.

Daly looks homicidal - hardly surprising, given that the man he's just threatened with unimaginable castigation has laughed explosively in his face. 

But then Daly visibly gathers himself together, holding out his hand in the "gonna throw a fireball" stance. 

"Since you find my attentions so repulsive, and my cultural allusions so amusing, let me entertain you with another." 

A twist of Daly's hand, and the medical bay is gone. In its place is a large room carved from pale red sandstone, filled with the fug of what smells like a particularly spicy, pungent tobacco. 

Walton is naked, wearing heavy metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, and a similar collar around his neck, linked to a chain held by - Walton heaves once again as he takes in his surroundings. The creature holding the end of the chain is beyond obese; a towering mound of quivering flab, glistening with some sort of slime, exuded from its scaly, wart-covered skin. 

It turns its enormous eyes towards Walton and licks its lips, its fetid breath making Walton gag as its tongue smears green ooze around its slack, cavernous mouth. Walton begins to struggle as the chain attached to his collar is forcibly wound in: what is obviously the creature's penis is beginning to stiffen and emerge from its leathery sheath. It is greyish-pink in colour, and covered in warts and oozing boil-like eruptions, dripping a thick, glutinous yellowish fluid, and the smell is nauseating. Even from the other side of the room Daly can smell the dead, rotting meat odour of its pre-ejaculate. 

"As I said, an amusing reference for you. Star Wars - Return of the Jedi 1983. Jabba the Hutt, somewhat re-imagined for the gamer generation. And you're Princess Leia."

Daly settles back on to one of the game generated leather sofas, smiling to himself as Walton's leash is slowly reeled in.

"Enjoy." 

And then the screams begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the lines, "Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage" from Richard Lovelace's 1642 poem "To Althea, from Prison".
> 
> Lovelace is saying that it is not the physical surroundings that make a place a prison; if you have the right frame of mind then what others see as a prison may actually be a refuge (a hermitage).
> 
> Sadly for Walton, in his current predicament he is a prisoner of the mind in a way far more effective than any physical state of imprisonment.


End file.
